


From a House to a Home

by Clockworkpulse



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Angst, Closeted Gaston (Disney), Cursed Gaston (Disney), Flowers, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecure Gaston (Disney), Kinda, M/M, Mild Blood, Past Child Abuse, Redemption, References to Shakespeare, The curse transfers to Gaston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 22:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockworkpulse/pseuds/Clockworkpulse
Summary: The fall should have been Gaston's end and yet, it led him to a new beginning.





	From a House to a Home

Gaston remembers falling. He thought it was to his death and it very well should have been. The drop was well over a hundred feet to the ground from where the bridge had collapsed under him. Something like that was a one way ticket to the afterlife and yet…he found himself waking on the palace grounds.

It was warm now, the kind of weather one expected in June as opposed to the cold and snow that had covered the land earlier. Gaston was genuinely surprised to find himself alive and well. He felt a little different but not necessarily in a bad way. He felt heavier but stronger, taller as well and his hearing was more focused, his sight sharper. How strange.

Perhaps he really was dead.

If so…he would have preferred to wake up somewhere else. Maybe somewhere filled with buxom women who would fall all over themselves upon seeing him. That would have been nice. Would have been a much more pleasant sight than these damned castle grounds where he’d failed to kill that hideous beast that had won Belle’s heart.

With a sigh that sounded far too deep for anything that might come from Gaston’s own throat, he pulled himself up. He stumbled on his feet, nearly tipping over and falling down once more. He really did feel so much heavier and why did his head in particular feel like it weighed a ton?

Gaston summoned up every ounce of strength in his body to right himself and keep his body balanced. Time to find a lake or pond or some such reflecting surface to see what exactly was going on with him.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he came upon a small stream running through the woods surrounding the castle. The face that greeted him caused Gaston to reel back for a moment before tentatively approaching once more and taking a closer look.

What stared back at him was the face of a beast. Not  _the_  beast but a beast all the same. Not so hideous, he thought, as the one he’d tried to murder but not exactly handsome either. Gaston took the time then to examine his new body.

The head was deer-like though it remained different enough that nobody would actually confuse it with a real deer. The body attached to the head was tall, standing at perhaps seven feet, the vast amount of black fur that covered the body made it impossible to tell exactly how large he was underneath it all. He had vicious looking claws at the tips of his…fingers? He would call them fingers. His feet were that of massive black hooves and the reason his head felt so damned heavy was because of the set of gigantic antlers that sat atop it.

This…this he did not expect.

_He was horrified_.

That cursed beast had done something to him. Had turned him into this and what could he do? He could try to storm into the castle again and find the beast but look at how well that had turned out the first time and appearing the way he did, he might very well be killed on sight and then there was the question of if this could even be reversed. Maybe he would be stuck like this forever.

Gaston was tempted to sit there and sulk and he very well would have had a gunshot not rung out. Whipping his head around, he saw a band of hunters in the distance, shouting and pointing his way. They must have thought he was some common deer from their position.

He couldn’t stay. If he stayed, he died, and Gaston was not going to die. Not like this. Not hunted like some stupid animal.  _He_  was the hunter, not the prey.

It was something of a chore to move this new body, with its heavier mass but he managed it well enough as he ran through the woods, dodging gunfire and arrows out of nothing but sheer luck. There was no thrill in being hunted. Just bone deep terror. 

Is this how all the animals he had hunted felt?

There was no time to think about it (not that he cared anyway). Gaston needed to put as much distance between himself and the hunters as possible and he had to do it quick before-

Metal teeth snapped shut around Gaston’s ankle. His leg was corded in so much muscle now that the teeth did not break bone but it dug in enough to send white hot pain shooting up his leg; from there it radiated out into the rest of his body. A loud roar escaped his throat in place of a scream.

Clawed hands desperately scratched at the trap, trying to free his ankle from the metal prison it was held in.

He managed to get a good enough grip on it where he could start to pull it open and pull his foot out but before he managed to open the trap enough to do so, an arrow embedded itself into his back by his left shoulder. The trap slammed shut once again, bringing forth a fresh gush of blood and a snarl.

Attempt number two worked more in his favor as he managed to open the trap in record time and pull himself free, his ankle and foot coated in blood and feeling far too tender to walk on but he had no choice if he wanted to live.

Gaston forced himself to move through the pain. It wasn’t like he hadn’t walked on a broken leg or done manual labor with a shattered wrist before. This was nothing.

In the end he had managed to lose the hunters but not before two more arrows got shot into his back.

Gaston didn’t stop moving though. He kept going, determined to get… _somewhere_  before sleeping for the night for it had become dark by now and he felt exhausted.

He must have wandered for another hour before coming upon a clearing where a small cottage surrounded by flowers of all colors and shapes and sizes sat. Gaston let himself collapse some feet away, his eyes feeling heavy. At least if he should die from his wounds in the night, the last thing he would see was something beautiful.

* * *

For the second time in as many days, Gaston did not meet his end. He wasn’t sure if he should say he was exceedingly lucky or just cursed. Perhaps he was like a cat and had nine lives. Two down, seven to go.

Gaston shifted slightly, taking in the warmth on his left side. A fire. And a weight laying across him. A quilt. He wanted to lay there forever, far too comfortable to move but then there was the sound of a door opening and someone gently banging their boots against the door-frame before finally making their way into the decently sized cottage.

He turned his head to take in the new person and while Gaston was a great lover of women (ask anyone and they would tell you so), he could appreciate a man too and this one was very handsome with his high cheekbones and loose, dark hair that fell around his face, framing it in a way that really brought out his features. The mouth held a small cupid’s bow and the nose was a nice, delicate Grecian nose that fit right in with his face. He was tall and thin but with an unmistakable definition of muscle in his arms. Not weak. Not strong like Gaston-not many were-but not weak either.

Despite the fact that Gaston was so clearly up and alert, the man walked past him without acknowledging him.  _Rude_. Nobody just ignored Gaston and so, being the kind of man he was, he cleared his throat rather obnoxiously, seeming to startle the other man for a moment.

“Are you awake?” the man asked.

“Obviously.” Mystery man laughed gently and moved over to Gaston, feeling around until his fingers grazed one of Gaston’s antlers.

“My apologies if I woke you,” he said as he sank down to his knees in front of the other. That is when Gaston noticed the cloudy look in the man’s eyes and the fact he wasn’t looking  _at_  Gaston but rather, not really looking at anything in particular. His savior was blind. Now wasn’t that unexpected.

“You should be more quiet,” Gaston huffed, deciding that blind or not and true or not, he wouldn’t go easy on the man, even if he’d saved his life.

“I will be next time. Are you hungry?” As if to answer for him, Gaston’s stomach growled loudly. Well, it wasn’t as if he was going to turn down a free meal anyway. “Let me make a plate for you.”

After a lunch of cured meats, bread, and cheese, Gaston simply had to ask.

“Why did you save me?”

“Why not?”

“…I’m a beast.”

“And?”

“I could kill you?” The man actually let out a snort at that.

“If you wanted to kill me, I’m sure you would have done it by now,” he said.

“I could do it later.”

“I doubt it.” That was how their conversation ended. Gaston had no more to say to him, and the man seemed content in being quiet.

On the second day, Gaston was tempted to leave and when he did make a move, the man spoke up.

“You’re leaving?”

“That was my intention.”

“You know, you  _are_  welcome to stay as long as you like. I’m sure your ankle must still be giving you pain and walking on it will only agitate it further.” He was right. Walking on it was still far too painful. “Unless you have a family or friends to return to, and then I will not stop you.”

“I have no one to return to.” Not even LeFou. After all, surely his friend would have come looking for him if he still cared.

It was with that dawning realization that Gaston remained. He sat in front of the fire and sulked, watching the man as he came and went, sometimes carrying flowers in and other times not.

“What are you doing?” Gaston finally asked after three hours of this.

“Hmm?”

“Why do you keep carrying flowers around?”

“Oh, I’m a florist. It’s my job to tend to the flowers and arrange them for customers.” Gaston made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “What was that for?”

“A man should be doing something like woodcutting or hunting, not picking flowers. That’s a job for a woman.” The man became quiet. He said nothing more as he resumed his work, a troubled look on his face. He didn’t speak again until breakfast the next morning.

“My name is Anwil,” he said. “Anwil Dubois.”

“Gaston,” the other replied after a moment, not sure at first if he wanted to give it but he made sure to puff up his chest when he did so, uncaring if the other couldn’t see.

“Is there a last name?”

“LeGume.” Anwil nodded, a smile playing on his lips. Gaston didn’t care enough to ask what it was for.

Around lunch, Anwil asked Gaston to assist him outside. “It will start raining soon and I want to collect what I need before then. Don’t worry, the flowers won’t kill you.”

“I know they won’t kill me,” Gaston scoffed as he moved to follow Anwil out, one of his antlers going through the window before he could get very far, shattering the glass. Anwil looked over his shoulder.

“Did you break a window?”

“…No.”

“…Do you need help getting your antler unstuck?”

“Possibly.”

A half an hour of struggling to free a massive antler later and they were making their way into the garden. Gaston noted the sticks in the ground before each patch of flowers, different designs carved into them near the top. Anwil felt them, some he passed over and others he went towards to pick.

_So that’s how he knows which are which_ , Gaston thought. It was clever, really, he had to give the other that.

“Are you going to help or sit there all day?” Anwil called back to him.

“I suppose I’ll help,” he grumbled.

Gaston had to admit that helping to pick flowers wasn’t bad. Of course, he also accidentally stomped on a few, effectively killing them. Anwil did not get angry, just patted Gaston and said it was alright and mistakes happen. Only he couldn’t fully accept that because he was Gaston and he wasn’t supposed to make mistakes. He just  _wasn’t_.

But while the flowers had been okay, though Gaston still didn’t think a man should be a florist, what followed that night made him groan.

A book. Anwil was reading a book. Just his luck to board with a man who liked to  _read_.

“How can you see the words if you’re blind?”

“The words are raised. I trace the letters with my fingers to read them.”

“So not even the blind are safe.”

“Let me guess…you do not like books either?”

“Books are…books.”

“…Astute observation.” Gaston sent him a glare he couldn’t see but surely felt if Anwil’s charming smile was anything to go by.

That’s how their days played out. Sharing meals, Anwil working with Gaston grudgingly helping if asked, Anwil reading while Gaston sat there bored as he recovered from his wounds, Gaston having to hide behind the cottage or in the woods when customers came by.

They didn’t exchange much information about themselves. They had chats but it never delved into anything overly personal. Gaston didn’t care. Once he was well enough to walk again and had some sort of goal in mind, he’d leave and never look back.

But then at the beginning of the third week, Anwil entered the cottage after an outing at the village nearby.

He heard the unmistakable sound of a book closing.

“Were you reading?”

“Never. You know how I feel about books.”

“Of course. Foolish to think you would pick one up.”

In the garden the next day, Anwil could hear Gaston mumbling Macbeth under his breath. A small smile came to his face but it begged the question why Gaston was hiding his reading from him. Or trying to, anyway.

And why did Gaston speak so ill of books if he was clearly so interested? Nobody just quoted Shakespeare for the fun of it. Not with the sometimes complicated language contained in the pages. 

Gaston didn’t seem to hate a man picking flowers as much as he tried to let on either.

Anwil didn’t ask that day. Or the next. Or the day after that.

He walked in on Gaston reading half a dozen times more, pretending the other wasn’t until finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you lying?”

“ _Excuse me_?” Gaston said defensively.

“Why do you keep lying to me? Why do you keep telling me you’re not reading?”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are. I can hear you closing the book when I come in. I even hear you reciting it in the garden.”

“I think you have lost your mind.”

“I think you don’t hate books as much as you want everyone to believe!” Gaston let out a vicious snarl. “Don’t growl at me, Gaston, you don’t frighten me!” Gaston grew deathly quiet. “Why do you keep hiding? I’m not upset with you for reading.”

“And yet you are shouting at me.”

“I’m shouting at you for lying about not reading, not about you doing it. I’m happy you are, I simply don’t understand why you feel you need to hide it.”

“Because reading is a waste of time, men should think about taking care of their families and protecting their country, not filling their head with nonsense. Reading is for…” Gaston trailed off.

“Your father…or your mother?”

“What?”

“Was it your father or your mother who said those things?”

“I don’t need to listen to you accuse my parents of anything.”

“ _Gaston_.”

“No!” Gaston roared. “Shut up!”

Anwil clenched his jaw, not making any attempt to stop Gaston from fleeing the cottage. He didn’t sleep well that night, his thoughts on Gaston as rain pounded against the roof and windows.

Gaston didn’t return until the next afternoon when Anwil was tending the garden.

“My father.”

“I thought as much. Would you like to talk about it?”

“I…”

“You don’t have to, just know you can.”

“…He would beat me if he caught me with a book. Even if it was for school. The headmaster became cross with me. I became his worst student when I was originally his best,” Gaston began. “My father said I was not to waste my time on books. I should be a man and men don’t have time for reading.”

“And flowers?” Anwil didn’t suspect Gaston would take too well getting sympathy. Not now anyway and so he had chosen to keep him talking instead.

“I was never allowed to help my mother in the garden. Flowers were for girls and girls were good for one thing…or, rather, two things, cooking and producing children.”

“What else did he tell you? What else did he ruin?” 

“I wanted to go to Paris to become a musician…that was no good either. Only a certain type of man does that and he said I better not be one of them. So I went into a more…manly job before I joined the army. I did it for him.”

“He’s not here, Gaston.”

“But he is.”

They curled up together in front of the fire that night. Gaston had not wanted to say more after that, and Anwil did not push him.

When he walked in on Gaston reading the next night, the other didn’t close the book immediately. He read for another minute before putting it away. It was a small thing but it made Anwil smile.

“What are you reading?” he asked gently.

“Uh…Macbeth…still. I’m nearly at Act 2.”

“After you finish that, I have an excellent book that I believe you will enjoy.”

“…I’ll take a look.”

“Good. Now, time to eat.”

Over the days that followed, Gaston pushed himself. He would read longer after Anwil entered, as long as he could bring himself to do so before that overwhelming feeling of dread crept into his body that screamed at him to put the book away before he got a beating. Even knowing Anwil would not strike him did not keep the thoughts at bay. But he was improving slowly. He had a feeling it would be a long process.

He took to not being so dismissive of flowers much more easily, feeling brave enough to ask which was which and what they represented. Anwil was more than happy to give out the information. Gaston liked the way his eyes sparkled as he talked about them.

There were times Gaston found himself so focused on Anwil’s eyes and very kissable lips that he missed everything the other said to him but Anwil didn’t seem to mind repeating himself. Gaston was glad for that.

“I think I love you,” Gaston whispered one night while Anwil was sleeping, having passed out against Gaston’s side as they talked about Macbeth and flowers and what instrument Gaston had wanted to play in his youth (it was a violin).

Saying those words lifted a great weight from Gaston’s shoulders. He felt he could breathe easier now that they were out there, even if the person they were meant for was asleep. He was grateful his father was dead, because if the elder LeGume had ever found out his son was in love with another man, he would skin him alive. Literally, Gaston was sure.

“Are you certain you didn’t hear some beast come through?” Those were the words Gaston woke up to three days after telling a sleeping Anwil he loved him.

“I have not, sirs, I’m very sorry. When did you say the beast was spotted exactly?”

“A few weeks ago the first time. Some hunters thought it was a regular deer. Odd colored though and bigger than usual. Then some days ago, maybe a week, somebody saw the same kind of deer in the woods just sittin’ there. Only they said it was some horrible beast. Hunters confirmed it was what they saw.”

“Well, I have heard no beast. I do apologize again. But if I do, I will tell you. What do you plan on doing with it?”

“We plan on killing it, of course. Can’t have it hurting people.”

“Yes, of course.”

Gaston didn’t move until he was sure the visitors were far away.

“I should leave now. If they find me here, you may be put in danger.”

“Gaston, they won’t find you.”

“If they are determined enough they will. I won’t put you in harm’s way.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“No. I should have left weeks ago anyway.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I will leave immediately.” It wasn’t as if he had anything to take with him anyway.

“I want to tell you something before you leave.” Anwil brought his hands up towards Gaston’s face, the other putting it in place. Anwil smiled sadly.

“What is it?”

“I just wanted to say that…I love you.” The reaction was almost immediate. Gaston felt something curl around his body, consuming him, and in seconds, he was himself again. He was a man, not a beast. He felt it in his limbs, in the fact his body and especially his head did not feel so heavy any longer. His senses were not as sharp either. That was unfortunate but by God was he thrilled to be himself again.

“Gaston?”

“I’m here.”

“What happened?”

“I cannot say for certain but I’m…me again.”

“You again?”

“Look.” Gaston grabbed Anwil’s hands, bringing them up to his face once more so he could feel skin rather than fur. “Well?”

“…I think I preferred you as a beast.” Gaston huffed. “I’m joking. I’m glad. If you are no longer a beast, it means you are no longer in danger so…does this mean you will stay?”

“It does,” Gaston grinned.

Anwil practically tackled him to the ground with that confirmation.

Gaston did not return to his home village. He started fresh with Anwil, new clothes, new personal effects, new attitude…a new Gaston. A Gaston that didn’t feel he needed to try hard or act like anyone but himself. Of course it did not mean he was entirely over his past but he was making great strides to overcome it with Anwil always by his side.

For his birthday, he received a violin and if one neared the cottage on most nights, they would hear music float out of the little house that Gaston was beginning to think of as home.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to my tumblr but I got the urge to upload it here too. Fic was Rated M just to be safe for references to the child abuse. 
> 
> I take prompts over on my blog. 
> 
> Hit me up here: [my blog.](http://artemiisiia.tumblr.com)


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